


Devil's Got My Arms

by MagpieWords



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (yeah im shocked i wrote top!crowley too), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Begging, Bondage, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comedy, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, French Revolution, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Roleplay, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), and just a hint of, because i cant write smut without making jokes in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/MagpieWords
Summary: Was it inappropriate to use an instance of mass murder as an opportunity to delve into one’s kinks? Probably, but moral quandaries were for mortals to worry about.A rewrite of the Bastille scene, but with more sex.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 183





	Devil's Got My Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/gifts).



> Titles from the Bastille song _Grip_ because it's a good song and also because i couldn't write a fic set in the bastille without referencing the band somehow.
> 
> So @ImpishTubist wrote me this thoughtful, angsty blowjob fic set after the church scene and this is my response - a sex comedy in the Bastille. Sorry, my friend, there's no way I couldn't write this scene without a few jokes. My beta pointed out that i basically stole the 'oh no, i ordered this pizza but how can i pay for it?' premise from old school porn, and they're honestly not wrong.
> 
> Please enjoy Aziraphale being horny on main and Crowley being a little bit demonic as he fulfills the angel's requests.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel, only humans do that.” It was fascinating, the way Crowley said this. Both bitter and amazed, amused and disappointed. Humanity had been inspired by his own curiosity, but even a demon had never been quite so curious about blades and the velocity with which they need to fall in order to execute someone.

Aziraphale, of course, had no time to notice these nuanced words. “Crowley!” His attention was solely captivated by Crowley’s attire. An outside party would realize that no one could lounge that casually in a prison cell without being very uncasual about holding the position, but Aziraphale was, again, not bothered by that nuance. Here was his demon, just as hoped for, and dressed in breeches that left little to the imagination. Not that Aziraphale’s were much better, and having less success holding back that which should be left to the imagination as the seconds passed.

“Oh good Lord,” he concluded and Crowley barely kept his face neutral. They could both only hope that She had no idea what they were up to.

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a book shop?”

“Well, I was.” When he’d suggested this idea to Crowley, Aziraphale had been certain he’d come up with something interesting to explain the whole situation. That had been a few weeks ago. He had plenty of time to come up with something. And yet he was drawing a blank. “I got peckish?”

“Peckish?” Crowley teased, serpent tongue just darting past lips faster than human eyes could perceive. He couldn’t find himself to be disappointed in the flimsy backstory - Aziraphale would absolutely do something like this.

“Well, if you must know, it was the crepes.” Crowley actually didn’t need to know any more, but Aziraphale seemed to want to sell the story. Sometimes he was still blinded by the illusion that he wasn’t exclusively motivated by his stomach or his demon, and that any such action motivated by those things needed a good explanation. “You can’t get decent ones anywhere other than Paris. And the brioche.”

Now Crowley was wondering if maybe Aziraphale had forgotten about their plans completely and had actually come here for flat bread and expired milk. “So you just popped across the channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble?” He gave Aziraphale a once over of his own. “Dressed like that?”

Aziraphale glanced down at himself. Maybe the shoes had been overkill, but they’d been so cute in the shop window, and if there was ever an opportunity to treat himself, it was certainly for something like this. He wanted his outfit to match, after all.

“I have standards.” It was hard to hold down a smile. Crowley always liked it when he was a posh bastard without any sort of remorse. The way Crowley was looking at him, nearly hungry, the line had worked just as planned. He’d better come up with a distraction if they were to drag this out for any respectable length of time, not that time was particularly interested in keeping track of things right now.

“I heard they were getting a bit carried away over here but—”

“Yeah, this is not carried away. This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine.”

Was it inappropriate to use an instance of mass murder as an opportunity to delve into one’s kinks? Probably, but moral quandaries were for mortals to worry about. Aziraphale was pretty sure he couldn’t fall if he tried; lying to God’s face was surely worse than a little deviance in a jail cell.

Crowley, despite murder being a pretty serious turn-off for him, was having just as hard a time keeping his eyes off of Aziraphale’s bound wrists as he had assumed he would when Aziraphale suggested this whole thing. And, besides, he was pretty sure he couldn’t fall twice; Hell would probably cash his bingo card for ‘fuckery in inappropriate locations.’

Aziraphale tugged at the chains connecting his wrist to the wall and Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Subtly was not an angelic art. “Why don’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”

Only a snake could smell the embarrassment rolling off of Aziraphale in waves, but only a demon would know how to twist that shame into something much more enjoyable. He bit his lip, hesitating before confessing. “I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. Got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

As though he hadn’t told Crowley all of this already, though much less contrite when he was drunkenly bitching in the bookshop. As if this wasn’t the whole reason they were here.

“Well, you’re lucky I was in the area.”

His angel had a bad day at the office and Crowley was running all the way to the continent to take his mind off things. Satan forbid Crowley ever have a bad day at the office or there’d be no demon left for Aziraphale to fuck into a better mood.

“I suppose I am.” It was a miracle that he didn’t break character right then and there, eyes roaming over Crowley hungrily as he licked his lips. “I should say thank you for the, uh, rescue.”

“Don’t say that!” Crowley surges forward, towering over Aziraphale as he leans back on the tiny stool in the cell. “If my people hear I rescued an angel—”

“I know, but surely there must be some way for me to show my gratitude?” The eyelash batting was a bit much, but then again, this whole adventure was a bit much.

“Looking like that?” Crowley hadn’t backed off in the slightest, pulling one of Aziraphale’s chains tight as he crowded into the space between his legs.

With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale vanished his breeches, revealing a garter belt more suited for courtesans from last century than an aristocrat traveling for snacks. There was a pause, the sizzle of a miracle lingering in the air, before Crowley started laughing, the facade of a domineering demon completely dropped.

Aziraphale pouted in earnest this time. “Well, barely counts as a miracle really.”

“We come all this way out here and you just— oh my Satan, I can’t…”

“Crowley—”

“No hold on, this is too much—”

“Either miracle me some new trousers or fuck me.”

“Okay, okay, sorry angel.”

“Get back in character.”

“Back in character?” Crowley’s sunglasses had slid down his nose and his eyes had gone fully serpent. Aziraphale nearly wiggled with delight. “What, the big mean demon about to take advantage of the helpless angel?”

“Helpless angel with a garter belt that matches his shoes, yes.” 

“Garter belt and little else, huh?” Crowley pulled on the chains, forcing Aziraphale closer. “Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble.”

“Oh, he very much is.” It would have been so easy to lean up a little further and kiss him. He was almost tempted to, but Aziraphale was used to that. Everything about Crowley was tempting.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the chains started losing links, pulling Aziraphale off of his seat and closer to the wall. He circled his prey as they moved across the room together, trailing light touches along the shiny fabric of the garter belt.

“Naughty little angel, all tied up like this.”

“It’s all been a terrible mistake, really,” he whined and Crowley just chuckled, closer than before. Lips pressed lightly against angelic curls, before moving further down and biting at his ear.

“Of course. And I’m always the one to fix it for you, aren’t I?” A forked tongue flickered against Aziraphale’s ear and the resulting shiver that ran down his spine made him moan.

“I’ll make it up to you.” The chains reached their resting point, and Aziraphale was spread eagle against the wall. A chill from the stones of the building seeped through what remained of his outfit. It could have easily been considered an attempt to escape, as he arched his back and pressed his ass against Crowley. It wasn’t, but surely it could have been considered as such.

“Yes, you certainly will.” 

The teasing touch had been almost soothing, as it traced along the thin fabric doing nothing to cover his dignity. Aziraphale had almost forgotten about it, lulled by the gentle sensation. Crowley pushed a little harder, nails scraping down the meat of his ass, until he was spreading Aziraphale obscenely. Time was frozen, no one would see, but it was like the yet to be invented drop of a rollercoaster; terrifying but delicious, creating desperation for it to stop with an equally desperate need for it to never end, right on the edge of danger yet completely safe.

The uncounted seconds dragged on. Aziraphale could feel Crowley staring at him. “Can we just—”

“Thought patience was one of your virtues, angel.” Just the slightest tiny of a fingertip pressing against his entrance, and Aziraphale was hungrily pushing back into it.

“And I can think of another virtue that needs tending to, demon.”

Crowley just chuckled, but knew better than to tease any longer. The prep work was easy enough to bypass with a quick miracle, but even with all that, he still managed to earn a delicious gasp from Aziraphale as he pressed against him. The chains rattled, a half-conscious attempt at movement, but Aziraphale wasn’t given any room to wander.

“Harder, Crowley.”

“You’re not in much position to be making demands,” he said, even as his hips moved faster, rougher. Closer to the idea of a demon having his way with an angel.

Aziraphale let his eyes close, face pressed against the walls of the Bastille, rolling in the sensation of it all. The bruises Crowley’s hands were leaving on his hips. The bite of metal against his wrists. Goodness, he hadn’t even noticed the brush of fabric against his rear. Crowley’s trousers were still up.

He twisted around and nearly came from the sight alone. Crowley was so focused, dedicated to his task even as he took his pleasure. He looked too perfect, hardly a hair out of place and still fully dressed while Aziraphale had everything on display. He had to look away, had to lean back against the wall. It was too much. Crowley hit his mark each time, pushing Aziraphale right to the edge of what he could handle but there was just one last little piece missing. He went to stroke himself, to get that final push over the edge, but was stopped by the chains. They rattled as he pulled again, a whine escaping him. “Crowley I—”

“Ask nicely.”

That was… unexpected. And infuriating. Aziraphale could hardly wait another second as the pleasure kept building and building with no release. “I thought your lot didn’t do nice,” he snapped.

“My lot,” Crowley snapped his hips forward and Aziraphale nearly sobbed at the overwhelming pleasure, “take what they want from wayward angels that get themselves caught. And what I want,” another thrust, less coordinated than the last. Crowley had to be close too, had to be waiting for Aziraphale to break first. “Is for you to show some respect.”

Aziraphale scoffed, even as his body protested wasting air on anything other than a moan. “Respect for a demon? I still have my—”

“If you’re about to say dignity,” Crowley leaned forward, pressing the cold buttons of his vest against the delicate fabric of Aziraphale’s white coat. Oh, it must be rucked up and wrinkled beyond any hope now…

Whatever other aesthetic worries Aziraphale was distracted with quickly vanished as Crowley slammed into him again. He expected another brutal thrust to follow, but the slow drag out was worse. Crowley was nearly bereft of him, before sliding back in even slower, making Aziraphale feel every inch. He stopped moving when he was fully seated. “I beseech you to reconsider.”

He pulled out again, impossibly, torturously slow and Aziraphale had never truly appreciated how demonic Crowley could be until this very moment. The sensation should have faded, with the stimuli slowing down, but it only sizzled hotter inside him, desperate for more more more.

Crowley pushed back in and Aziraphale tried to chase sensation, tried to press his ass back towards him, but the hands on his hips only bruised him deeper as he tried. Out, then back in, slower than molasses and just as horrifically good.

It was barely a whisper, but it was all he could manage as Crowley dragged back out again. “Please.”

With one sharp motion, Crowley was inside him again, faster than even the hardest thrust from before and Aziraphale nearly screamed.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”

He pulled back out roughly, slamming back in again as Aziraphale truly did scream.

“Please!”

A firm hand gripped him, slick touch sliding from base to tip just once, and Aziraphale lost track of the rest.

When he came to, his wrists were free. Odd to have noticed that before noticing he was on his back, but that’s what he noticed first. Not even any bruising left behind to worry about. “Oh good Lord, that was lovely.”

“Everything you hoped for, angel?” Crowley was next to him, smoking a cigarette in a way he only seemed to do when they visited France.

“And then some. Quite a mouth on you.” Aziraphale stretched out along the blankets that must have been summoned, lounging in the paused time. “Making me beg. That what does it for you, you fiend?”

“Oi, you’re the one getting his rocks off with this whips and chains nonsense.”

Aziraphale flapped a hand at him, not bothering to argue against the pointless accusation. Pot calling the kettle, as were it. “Well, thank you for indulging me.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley muttered, more out of habit than anything else. He snuffed out the cigarette against the stone of the Bastille and stood, offering a hand to Aziraphale. He hardly had to spare a thought before miracling a more revolution appropriate ensemble for the angel.

“Well, I am very grateful. What about if I buy you lunch?”

Time began around them, the guards carrying away their unknowing exhibitionist prop to his death, while Crowley and Aziraphale walked out of the prison without being noticed. “You’ve tempted me. What did you have in mind?”

“What would you say to some crepes?”


End file.
